Snowflake Snippets
by LostInWonderland72
Summary: Fifteen years on the throne for the Pevensies, fifteen Narnian Christmases. Fifteen glimpses of Golden Age winters, from its darkest Christmases to its brightest. Chapter Three, The Anvard Christmas: 'The wealthy fortress of Anvard is the location of their third Christmas...'
1. The First Christmas

**A/N: **I'm back! School has finished for Christmas, so now, happily, I have time for FF. I have also changed my pen name-it used to be MissShakespeare72. I know I should be writing Always, but I'm in a festive mood! So, here are fifteen glimpses of fifteen Narnian Christmases. This is the one that we see in the book and film, so I really wasn't sure what to do-this is the best I could come up with, I'm afraid, but next chapter we move into the realm of my imaginings. Enjoy!

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**The First Christmas**

Their first Christmas in Narnia is barely a Christmas at all, full of uncertainty and nervous glances over the shoulder. Though they don't realise it at the time, it is also their first Christmas apart.

Lucy doesn't think of it, because a part of her childhood that she had been clinging to with defiant faith has just appeared in front of her and confirmed all of her belief. It doesn't feel enough like Christmas for Edmund's absence from the festival to be notable, but as she carelessly spills a few scalding drops of rich, aromatic tea onto the snow and watches as it pockmarks the flawless white blanket, she feels strangely sad.

Susan doesn't think of it, because all she can think of is incredulity and _what would Mum say? _And she's struggling with all of her grown-up ideas like _Father Christmas isn't real _being laughable to these strange people. Though she would never admit it, her hands are still shaking from the icy fear of the Witch that had accompanied their flight across the frozen planes and as she tremulously pours the tea, she feels a twinge of melancholy that she is pouring for five people and not six.

Peter doesn't think of it, because he's too busy worrying about Edmund's whereabouts and wellbeing rather than the fact that he is not sharing Christmas with them. He barely tastes the tea, because he has just been given a sword, and unlike the wooden play swords from his early childhood, if he tries to stab someone with this, it will kill them. But he hasn't got time to dwell on that, because Susan's hands are so cold she can't move them and Lucy keeps trying to shrug her heavy, stifling coat off and as he is chafing Susan's hands warm between his own and keeping an eye on Lucy, there is a third of him that feels at a loss, because there is no problem of Edmund's that he must address, even if it's only Edmund's refusal to let Peter take care of his problems.

Edmund doesn't think of it, because the last thing he cares about hunched at the Witch's feet is Christmas. All he can think of is the bone-piercing cold, and the fact that for the first time in his life, he would sell his soul to the Witch if it meant that he knew his family would be safe.

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading, the next chapter should be up soon, and we'll take a look at their Christmases as Kings and Queens. Reviews are much appreciated!


	2. The Forest Christmas

**A/N: **Here is their first Christmas on the throne, folks! Enjoy.

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**The Forest Christmas**

The second Christmas is wild and relentlessly joyful.

It is the first proper Christmas that Narnia has seen for a hundred years, and the land is flooded with mirth. Cair Paravel is still chilly and in ill repair, so the royal family and their fledgling court take to the forest for their Christmas celebrations. They roam aimlessly but happily through the woods as the starlight glitters on icicles and in the black, freezing streams that flow through trenches of snow, gathering more and more followers who bring more and more sumptuous food and rich, spicy wine, and instruments to add to the glorious blend of music that goes on and on in a song that never ends but morphs and changes as they go. The cold pinches cheeks red and turns breath to smoky clouds of vapour, but everyone is warmed by the wine and the endless dancing, which nobody has neglected to take part in.

Eventually, the sheer size of the party forces them to stop and ground their celebration at the Dancing Lawn, the ancient site of Narnian festivity. Snow is rhythmically shaken from the branches of the trees by the driving beat of the Dwarven drums and little Queen Lucy can be found at the very centre of the mass of dancers, flinging herself at the mercy of the drums and pipes and lutes, her cheeks flushed and feet bare in the powdery snow as Mr Tumnus chases after her, fretting, with her shoes. The dance never seems to be any one particular dance, yet no dancer ever misses a step and despite the profusion of wine, no one moves with the lunging, unbalanced movements of the inebriated. Queen Susan can also be found dancing with uncharacteristic reckless abandon, dragging her brothers in turn into the dance that swells and falls like a tide then setting them free again, snatching Mr Tumnus away from his breathless chasing of Lucy, shoes in hand, to partner her, then seconds later spinning into the arms of a fresh partner, her laughter almost a harmony in the music.

King Peter is caught out by the mistletoe, as an eager nymph flutters her eyelashes in a manner she sincerely hopes is beguiling. The Narnians seem far freer with their kisses than the young royals are used to and mistletoe is considered a forceful bind until the promised kiss is bestowed, regardless of whom it entraps. He is at first bashful, but when the two part at last, to the astonishment of his siblings, it is the nymph who totters away, swooning and blushing, and Peter who delicately clears his throat and moves off discreetly, but with a distinct aura of self-satisfaction, pretending not to notice the curious clouds of other ladies eyeing their young King with newfound predation, not realising that with one simple act he has doomed himself to be subjected to a night of increasingly complex and inescapable plots involving mistletoe.

King Edmund, after taking a moment to be mortified at his brother's antics, returns to the vicious snowball war that he has become engaged in, in which everyone from old war veterans to the children of courtiers may be heartily involved. One young Otter catches him square in the face, and the game freezes, its participants watching anxiously to see if they have overstepped some hidden line of propriety, but Edmund just laughs, swiping the chill white powder from his eyes, and retaliates cheerfully. Soon the game is back in full swing, and even Oreius lowers himself to a sly kick or two, showering his dark colt King with snow.

The woods become a midnight effusion of sheer unrivalled joy. All four monarchs wear breathless smiles and cherry glows in their cheeks, the bittersweet lingering taste of the wine on their tongues and the rhythm of the dance in their feet. Their hair is unruly and a strange fey light is in their eyes, and they have never seemed more Narnian than on this their second Christmas night.

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**A/N: **Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. The Anvard Christmas

**A/N: **Enjoy!

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The wealthy fortress of Anvard is the location of their third Christmas in Narnia.

In a fit of generous jollity, King Lune has taken it upon himself to show the Narnian monarchs, to whom he affectionately refers as the 'royal rookies' or 'Narnian nippers' to their chagrin, an extravagant Archenlandish Christmas. It is a Christmas of copious plenty, more than anything-the colossal tree that is brought into the hall takes three days to fully decorate and the cooks seem to have spent the past year preparing for the numerous and lavish feasts.

Lune insists on taking the two Kings out for what he fondly calls 'man time,' to the embarrassment of his dear wife, as his own sons are but toddlers. A boisterous Christmas hunt takes place in the snow with Lune at the head, haring through the trees on the back of a sleek black stallion, but clad in a spectacular bright orange doublet trimmed with white fur. To Edmund, crouched low on Phillip to avoid a smack in the face from a frosty branch (Peter has already been the victim of just such a misfortune), he resembles nothing so much as a giant, merry pumpkin, and this thought keeps him chuckling to himself throughout the hunt, prompting concerned glances from Peter.

Lucy spends Christmas Day with the young princes, romping through the palace halls with them, singing for them, making them pretty paper doves or snowflakes to play with. She relieves their army of nannies and nursemaids for a day of childish mirth, sometimes joined by Susan and the proud Queen, who give up their regal bearings to sit on the floor and giggle at Lucy and the boys' antics. Susan even looses her meticulously kept, silken hair from its braid at Cor's insistent tugging so that he can play with it and chortle at the way she jokingly pretends to snap at his fingers whenever he musses it too badly. When they are not with Lucy and the princes, the Queen gives Susan, to her delight, some lazy lessons in hospitality, showing her how the strained kitchens are run, the decoration coordinated and the dances selected for the formal beginning of the ball.

When the men return, exhausted and freezing but glowing with the thrill of the hunt, its spoils are prepared and an elaborate banquet held, containing every conceivable Christmas dish and a huge centrepiece of several types of meat stuffed inside one another, which Lune gorges on cheerfully and Peter and Edmund tuck into enthusiastically as well, to Susan's faint disgust and Lucy's amusement. Susan severely restricts Lucy and particularly Edmund's wine consumption, but she can do nothing to prevent Peter and Lune happily drinking themselves under the table in a series of increasingly rowdy and slurred drinking games.

By the end of the night, when luxurious presents have been bestowed and the larders are empty and the wine casks dry, the royal party end up relaxing around a cosy fire in one of the smaller sitting rooms. Lune and his Queen had desired from the outset to be like extended family to the young Kings and Queens, concerned for the children without parents or familial guidance, and that they have become. Susan kneels on the rug, a dozy Corin snuggled in her arms and a slumbering Peter's head in her lap, as unused to the Archenlandish wine as he is, he has crashed out on the hearth rug. The Queen ends up entwined with little Cor in a cushiony armchair, and Lune, lounging on the couch between Edmund and Lucy, is drunkenly attempting to persuade them to join him in singing songs of ancient battles as they giggle at him.

It is their first Christmas in Narnia that feels anything like they had remembered Christmas from the Other Place, with all the mirth and embarrassment and frustration and warmth of a Christmas spent with family.

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**A/N: **These keep ending up much longer than I intend them to be, but I enjoy writing them so much! I hope you enjoyed reading it.


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